The Osita Cycle: Part Four

May 27, 1998 (Rubia)

As the seemingly interminable flight continued, tensions within the cabin of the private jet began to mount.

"Senorita!" Jefe barked at the stewardess. "I ordered my special hot 'n spicy chicken wings over an hour ago. Is this what you Bolivians call service?"

"Lo siento, senor! I have preprared the wings as you requested, but I am unable to find the dessert that accompanies them. It seems that whoever was supposed to bring the baklava did not do so!" All eyes turned to Dina, who was honing her newly acquired can-opener skills on a container of fruit cocktail. "No one told me! I swear it!" she cried defensively, throwing the can opener and inadvertently hitting Roger in the head. He looked at Dina - remembered once again that he couldn't hit a woman, and gave Jefe yet another elbow to the jaw.

Salvador, sensing that the formerly groovy karma of the gang was dissipating rapidly, broke out into a round of "Ay ay ay ay, canta y no llores!" Hostilities forgotten, everyone sang the time-honoured words in unison. Unfortunately, as Salvador was the only one who knew the next two lines of the chorus, the warm fuzzy moment soon dwindled into blank stares of confusion.

Jefe, who was usually a pretty level-headed guy, lost it. "I'm usually a pretty level-headed guy, but I've lost it! I can't take you people any more!" Tantrum in full swing, he got up and sulked over to a solitary seat in the corner. Rifling noisily through his briefcase, past numerous Spanish verb books and cat-related guides, he found and pulled out 2 popsicle sticks and a ball of wool. "They all think they know so much," he muttered to himself maniacally, "pero no saben ni papa de hacer un buen ojo de dios! Ha! I'll have the last laugh!"

Laurie, who had always had a soft spot for Roger, sidled over to the seat next to his. Roger was still engulfed in his laptop, posting his latest Grouse Grind times on his personal web page. (Of course, each posted time was reduced from the actual by exactly 10 minutes - after all, he did have an image to maintain.)

"Hi Roger! We've hardly talked the whole trip. How've you been?" But even the enthusiasm chiming in her voice could not distract him. Not one to willingly be ignored, Laurie persisted. "Roger, could you at least take a moment to look up and chat with me?"

Tearing his eyes away from the screen, he turned to face her. "Hey - did you get a haircut?"

Roger caught only the tiniest glimpse of the fury in her eyes before she decked him across the nose. "That's the third time you've asked me that today! Why are you computer scientists so obtuse? No lawyer would ever have the nerve...."

"CALLATE!" Erika screamed at the top of her lungs, which even she had to admit were pretty big. "Did you hear me? Callate!"

Dina's timid voice broke the silence. "Uh....actually Erika, the correct conjugation would be 'callense', in the subjunctive..."

Erika's glare stopped her words cold. "Need I remind you all that we are a cult? How many cults do YOU know that sit and bicker all day? Now relax people! Being the social coordinator, I am personally going to see to it that we have so much goddamn fun that we won't know what hit us. Do you hear me?" Everyone nodded, eyes wide with fear. "Good. Now Andres has volunteered to perform a bit of his Michael Jackson dance rountine for us. He is practicing in hopes of finding work as a stripper when we get to Bolivia. You know how well he moved those hips at Club Impulse! Hit it, babe!"

As Andres entertained the small audience with his gyrating hips and sexy strutting, Erika closed her eyes and wondered why even now - with this Canadian Don Juan parading in front of her - she was overcome by an ominous feeling that something was very wrong. Unable to contain her suspicions any longer, she slid into the seat next to Jefe, whose ojo de dios was taking on grand proportions. She was about to confide her fears to him when suddenly the stewardess emerged from the cockpit, studied the group for a moment, and then walked over to where Roger was seated.

Leaning over him seductively, she murmured "So you're the one they call 'El Gran Bailaran.' I have longed to meet you. My name is Conchita."

Computer instantly forgotten, Roger sprang to his feet, took the stewardess' outstretched hand, and delicately kissed her fingers. "Patterson....Roger Patterson." he replied. Suddenly a doubt crossed his mind. Had he revealed too much? "Hey, you're not planning to look me up in the phone book and stalk me, are you?"

"Oh no, Senor Patterson. But you must dance with me! I need to experience your famous sensuality for myself. Now!" The stewardess flipped a switch on the cabin wall, and suddenly the pulsating rhythms of salsa filled the air. "You two must dance as well," she ordered, pointing at Erika and Jefe. "Come here beside us."

Laurie, Salvador, Andres, and Dina looked on in amusement, and then began discussing Dina's neurotic reactions towards pesto.

As the two couples moved to the music, the stewardess motioned for Roger, Erika, and Jefe to lean their heads in close to her.

"I have a message for you, but we must be very careful. There are microphones everywhere, and Subcomindante Vito is listening to your every word. I hoped that the music would cover our voices. That is why I asked you to dance."

Roger, who had been congratulating himself on his lady-killer skills, tried to hide his disappointment. "Yes, uh, of course that's why we're dancing. What's the message?"

"Vito is holding Dinorah captive to lure you into his trap! But you must save her.....he is torturing her by making her watch Jamon Jamon over and over with him! If you do not help her soon, I fear the worst!" She lowered her voice even further. "But I must warn you of something even more sinister. There is someone among you who can't be trusted. She is only known to me as "osita."

Roger, Jefe, and Erika all turned to stare at Dina. Feeling their eyes upon her, she turned to them, her face clouding over with an indecipherable expression. "Yes, I...uh....agree that pesto is environmentally sound, Salvador, but uh....if you'll just excuse me for a moment, I'm just going to go put my bag away and then I'll be right back." She bolted toward the rear of the plane.

Jefe and Roger, who had heard this song and dance from a young man called Juan once before, would not be fooled again. "She must be stopped!" they declared, and ran down the aisle.